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The kid wouldn't stop. But no one really had the heart to tell him he couldn't impersonate a train by shouting "Woo! Woo!" over and over. Not only that, but there wasn't a single person in the place who was willing to drop the mask and trample the fascade, if only for a moment, that we are all well-behaved monkeys in the monkey house. Since allowing my mind to remain in the present where insipidity reigned, I chose to shift my thoughts and creativities to more satisfying ventures. For example, how fun would it be to kill that child? Too much fun. If murder wasn't a sin, enjoying extinguishing that kid's life would be.

Ah. To imagine myself standing over his corpse, which had released it's payload of urine due to the shock of being bludgeoned by my stainless steel lunchbox, was almost enough to arouse me. Not sexually, I mused, but to rouse me to action. Though it is often said that sex and violence are often quick to follow one another.

No doubt of this lingered in my mind. I had seen countless snuff films. First she'd slowly remove her clothes, pretending to romance the jaded (inevitably obese, unkempt and forty-years old) man who stood on the bed merely anticipating the oral sex which was in the unspoken script. And at that point, the action would branch into either that expected oral sex or he'd beat the fuck out of her. It's beyond me how someone can enjoy being hit until your own blood comes out like a fountain and you're forced to lick it off your lips, or be hit even more, so that you can continue orally gratifying the guy who thinks you're just throw-away material anyway.

If that didn't ensue, he'd haphazardly slip his penis in and proceed to have his way with her until he prematurely came. Outraged by this, the nearest bludgeon would be picked up and applied with the utmost force to any and all parts of her body until she either fell unconscious or she simply died. There was a time, once, when I would have to look away from this "erotic" spectacle, but now I find that I can't even get hard until the movie reaches this point.

God, why did I even buy this shit? It cost so much and I knew I was losing my humanity everytime I closed the tattered curtains in my apartment and sat on my bed watching it. But I did have to wonder. Why would a 28 year old construction worker want to watch this? Was it more human to be intimate with your inherently sick sphere of thinking? Or was it human to hide it all behind a fallacy called social propriety and manners? All I know for sure is that it pains me everytime I think of this. Everytime I walk down the street and see a woman and desire tearing off her clothes, held close to her out of insecurity, and taking her to task. She knew, and I did too, that if I did, I'd be treating her better than the sick fuck who she was walking home to. Anyway, it's not my fault. After all, we're just a product of our environment.

Kill the damn kid already. If nobody is going to tell him that you can't imitate a train by running around making noises like that, he's likely to grow up to be a dumbshit who'll do the same to his kids. It's Darwin's Theory of Evolution. He's the weak, you're the strong. It'd be good to clean some shit out of the gene pool. Kill him, Job. Kill him.